Travel Special: Visiting Sinai like a Bedouin

Sinai — that magical piece of land where hearts go and are never able to subsequently leave — has been under a lot of heat recently because of Egypt-Israel border tension.

How dire the situation really is though, is quite debatable. Both Egyptian and Israeli media are having the people of both countries scared to their bones, warning them against going to the pristine peninsula, and who knows for what end that’s so.

For School of the Desert to launch in Sinai at this time in particular did more than just prove that the area is safer than the confusion-ridden city that is Cairo. In a way, it was also an act of reclamation of Sinai from the jaws of all the conspicuous fear mongers.

School of the Desert is an incredibly fresh, much needed and long awaited initiative to educate more people about the terrain that covers over 96 percent of the nation’s territory. It isn’t your typical school, it is one where the desert is the classroom and its authentic Bedouins are the teachers. Through trips to different desert locations all around Egypt, the aim is to boost awareness of both nature, and the people who spent their lives nurturing it. It ultimately aims at bringing seemingly conflicting cultures, those of the city and the desert, closer together.

On the morning of the second day of Eid El Fitr holidays, we started off on our adventure.

The ride from Cairo to Kum Kum camp in Nuweiba, a beautiful coastal town in the south eastern part of Sinai, was about five hours long but felt a lot less. On the outside there wasn’t much more than long stretches of sand, and sporadic trees and bushes. But conversing with Amr Bassiouny, the founder of School of the Desert, and two other happy campers riding with us in his grandiose black pick-up truck, killed the time quite effectively.

We arrived at Kum Kum just in time to catch some sun before it sets off to its celestial bed. Most of us settled in a wide open-sided shack where we threw all our backpacks and sleeping bags, while others moved into much smaller private straw huts. With a chilled, laid back start to the trip, everyone used the first evening socializing and getting better acquainted. At night, after a rather late dinner — so late one of the happy campers had to empty ketchup sachets in her mouth for sustenance while it was getting ready — most of us took to their preferred corner under the group hut or further out on the shore with our sleeping bags. Our designated DJ for the trip played chillout music very befitting of the surrounding atmosphere. One of the girls took notes by the light of a small flashlight, a couple of people were talking about how excited they were to be there, and I discovered that when you point your flashlight’s light to the sea at night, you could see the fish jumping about like they’re partying to music of their own.

What was interesting to notice right from the first night, was that even though a lot of us had been immensely sleep-deprived before we had gone out on the trip, our bodies naturally and immediately adjusted to what seems to be how the human biological clock should operate. We slept by 11 pm the latest, and woke up with the rising sun.

Closing your eyes to a sea of stars up above and opening them with the first soft rays of sunlight, and the sound of the supple waves crashing to the shore only a few meters away fills you with feelings of rejuvenation like nothing else. You get up feeling like you could take on the whole world.

The next day, after a lovely breakfast of hummus, omelettes, foul, cheese with tomatoes and freshly picked thyme, we headed out into the mountainous desert off-roading our way to the first night’s camp location. We stopped a few times along the way only for lunch and to rest while the scorching mid-day sun cools down. Speaking of which, Bassiouny then gave us our first lesson on how to tie a scarf efficiently to keep your head and the back of your neck protected from the sun out in the desert.

At each stop, El Me’allim Asheesh, our Bedouin guide, would set his rug, start a small fire and prepare a fresh pot of extra sweet marmariyya [a herb grown in the desert] tea. At each stop, a few of us would feel compelled to climb up to the highest point we’re able to reach on the mountain or hill we temporarily camp near.

There’s something about reaching the top of a mountain that’s quite addictive. More than the absolutely rewarding view and sense of accomplishment, while you’re climbing you feel as though you’re getting closer to the heavens. As if when you’re up there, you’ll get just a little closer to something much grander than anything we know down below. It’s not about how technically high up you go either, since it’s not the same as flying in a plane for example, but rather about the perseverance and effort you exert to get up there — getting over fears of slipping, or the possibility of not being able to find a good way back down.

When you’re finally at the top, every worry in the world seems to disappear.

Climbing is easier for some people than others of course. For Hilal, El Me’allim Asheesh’s 12 year old son who is arguably half human half gecko, climbing even the trickiest of mountain sides is a piece of Bedouin cake.

When we later arrived at the spot where we would camp for the night, a couple of people set up small tents, the Bedouins prepared a hefty and utterly delicious goat meat meal, as a professional yoga instructor [a fellow traveler] gave us our first yoga session. We practiced a special technique of intense breathing, performing ‘sun salutations’ and a few other simple positions. The effect of it was, at least for me, surprisingly substantial. By the end of it, the tips of my fingers and toes were numb, and it felt as though something else was accompanying my blood, filling my veins and reaching every cell of my body. It’s understandable how the serenity, silence and energy of the location as a whole helped feeling that way too.

At night, we gathered around the bonfire, curled up in our sleeping bags and blankets while El Me’allim Asheesh spoke to us of shooting stars and myths surrounding them. One by one, people started falling asleep, surrendering to the peacefulness of the place.

One starts to think how overrated concrete roofs and walls are, when it feels so much safer under a canopy of stars and between the protective and gentle arms of the mountains.

The next day was quite the educational one. After waking up, having breakfast and collecting our belongings, we headed out to Ain Om Ahmed, a breath-taking oasis with palm trees that have lived through many generations. Hilal led us to one he deemed to belong to his grandfather, and showed us the ones his uncle had tended to before he got arrested in Iraq.

From that location, we left the vehicles to the Bedouins and went off on a trek through the mountains, guided by El Me’allim Selim and accompanied by the young Hilal.

On the hike, because of the extremely varying terrain and scenery, it felt as though we were always entering one magical world after the next. From soft sandy flatlands, to rockier grounds, and with the mountains having different colours and textures. Crystals, precious stones and many important herbs were abound and we walked through all these glorious riches of the earth without thinking what they’re worth. It felt as though every tree, every shrub, every rock and grain of sand has a life, a spirit and a name.

We reached our destination a couple of hours later, rested for a little while, then started collecting wood for our fire-making lesson. “If you don’t learn to take care of yourself, nobody is going to do it for you”, El Me’allim Asheesh said about being out in the desert. Elemental to one’s survival is being able to start your own fire, and while not particularly difficult, it really isn’t as simple as it might seem.

Once we got our own little fires started, each of us made their own ‘libba’, a special type of Bedouin bread made often while in the desert. It needs nothing other than flour and water to prepare, and it is cooked using heated sand and the coal from the fire pits.

We also prepared our own food with the ingredients we had at hand. We covered potatoes and tomatoes with aluminum foil, and threw them in the fire to grill then mashed them together with cheese and foul, or simply heated up a can of beef. It all seemed so much easier when the Bedouins were the ones preparing our meals.

After we were all done, and after having some fun drifting in the soft sand with the Hillux pick-up trucks, we started off again to another location where we would camp for the night.

The next day we made back to Kum Kum for a long-awaited refreshing splash in the sea, and to soak up the sun. We chilled by the beach and revisited all the humorous situations we’ve been through. It was a relaxed and lovely end to one heck of an adventure.

School of the Desert has allowed us to learn a lot of things most of us take for granted, yet are basic essentials of survival. More than that, it has allowed us to get back in touch with so much that we tend to forget, ignore or deny while living in the cacophony of the city.

As for me, my heart has not come back yet from Sinai.

By Sara Abdel Azim

School of the Desert, which hosted this writer, is preparing to launch another educational Bedouin-inspired trip into the peninsula on the 6th of October, 2011. If you’re interested in signing up, check out the details here.

About the Writer: Sara Abdel Azim is a technology consultant on weekdays, and a comic artist, aspiring photographer, traveler and philosophy student otherwise. She tweets here.